Spring Bride

by Sandra Marton

  What was the matter with her? To think that a man like that should hold any appeal for her was ridiculous. If she ever took an interest in a man, it would certainly not be in one who went around parading his boorish masculinity.

  And yet, when she felt a hand press lightly on her shoulder, when a deep, male voice said, “Miss Landon?” Kyra swung around, her pulse racing.

  Had the Spaniard come back? Was he going to tell her he’d never wanted to make love to a woman as much as he wanted to make love to her? Would she have the courage to say—to admit…

  But it wasn’t he. It was the manager of the new Arts Center.

  “Miss Landon,” he said quietly, “there’s a phone call for you in my office. I—I’m afraid it’s not good news.”

  Kyra’s mind went blank. She managed to nod, to smile politely and make her way past him. She knew, even before she reached the office and picked up the phone; she knew who was calling, and why.

  It was the doctor, phoning to tell her that her father, Charles Landon, was dead.

  CHAPTER ONE

  IT WAS a perfect morning, one that could make you forget that a raw Colorado winter was only weeks away. The early autumn sky was cloudless and so bright a blue that it was almost able to soften the dreary lines of the Landon mansion that dominated the top of the hill.

  Kyra sighed as she paused beside the lower paddock and leaned on the railing. Last spring’s foals were playing some kind of catch-me-if-you-can game in the meadows. Their long legs flashed and their silky manes flew as they galloped past each other. Beyond the foals, the mares grazed on the tender grass with quiet dignity.

  A smile curved across Kyra’s mouth. This was what made life on the estate bearable: the herd of elegant Morgans, the magnificent land rolling away to meet the soaring majesty of the Rockies…Her heart had always been here and not in the house looming above her, a house that had now become hers.

  She turned, tucked her hands into the rear pockets of her jeans, and began walking slowly up the gravel path that led to the aspen grove behind the house.

  There was a time she’d wondered why her father had ever built something so ugly. She knew her brothers thought it was because Charles saw all that stone and stained glass as a testament to his wealth and power. But that couldn’t have been the reason. There were other houses in the foothills of the Rockies that had cost small fortunes yet still managed to capture the mountains’ wild beauty.

  When the reason finally came to her, it was so basic that she knew it to be true.

  Charles had simply never given a thought to the aesthetics of Landon House. He’d have demanded the mansion be imposing in size and that it be built of the finest—meaning the most expensive—materials.

  The rest of it wouldn’t have interested him.

  The architect had understood. He’d seen the character of his client and given him exactly what he wanted. A house that reflected its owner, a house that was show without substance, that had no heart or soul. And Charles had been satisfied. He knew nothing about hearts, or souls. Not of houses, not of people.

  Not even when it came to his daughter.

  Kyra sighed deeply. It seemed impossible that she had spent a lifetime living a lie.

  “You’re the only one who’ll never disappoint me, Angel,” Charles had said, right up to the end.

  But she had disappointed him, virtually every day of her life. In her heart, where it counted, she’d never been the perfect angel he’d thought she was.

  It was cooler here, in the aspen grove. Kyra gave a little shiver and pulled up the collar of her denim jacket

  Her life had changed right after their mother’s death. Kyra couldn’t remember Ellen Landon; she’d died when Kyra was only a toddler. All she knew was that suddenly she’d become the center of her father’s existence.

  “My little lady,” he’d say, swinging her into his arms, “you’re the joy of my life!”

  But if she was his joy, her brothers were his affliction. Charles had no patience for them. He treated Cade, Grant and Zach with a coldness that bordered on cruelty. To this day, Kyra couldn’t figure out the reason. She only knew that when she was five, she’d discovered the power she held.

  It happened one rainy afternoon when the household was between nannies. Her brothers had been chasing each other through the halls, an activity that was never permitted. Caught up in the spirit of the game, they’d gone flying into Charles’s study and somehow an urn had gone smashing to the floor.

  Kyra would never forget the terror that had settled over them. She’d been terrified, too, knowing what was coming, knowing her beloved big brothers were going to be punished.

  The boys didn’t shrink from their duty. That night, they met Charles at the door and confessed to what had happened.

  His face went cold. “Which of you broke the urn?”

  The boys looked at each other. “We don’t really know, sir,” Grant replied.

  Charles’s eyes narrowed. “Tell me the truth.”

  “That is the truth, sir,” Zach said, his voice changing pitch in the middle of a word. “We were all running, and-”

  “You’ll all be thrashed unless the guilty boy steps forward.”

  “But we’re trying to tell you, Father,” Cade whispered, “we don’t know which of us did it.”

  “So be it. Who will be first?”

  There was a moment’s silence and then Grant stepped out in front of his brothers.

  “No,” Zach and Cade shouted, but Grant hushed them.

  “I did it,” he said.

  “Did you? Or are you trying to protect your brothers?”

  Grant stared at his father. “I—I—”

  “You all need a dose of responsibility,” Charles said through his teeth, and he herded them into the library and slammed the door.

  Kyra didn’t think, she simply reacted, bursting into the library after them. Charles swung toward her, his face dark, his hand on his belt, and she forced a painful smile to her lips, somehow knowing with a wisdom far beyond her years that to plead for mercy would not work.

  Instead, she began babbling about her new pony and how she’d spent the afternoon learning to nde it. Slowly, the flush faded from her father’s face. Finally, she asked him to come and watch her ride.

  She held her breath and waited.

  Charles looked from her to his sons. After what seemed an eternity, he jerked his head toward the door.

  “Go to your rooms,” he snapped, “and figure out how you’re going to replace that urn. You’re getting off easy this time.”

  His hand had closed over Kyra’s, and it had taken all she had to keep smiling.

  And just like that, she’d become the perfect daughter.

  Her brothers had never guessed. As far as they were concerned, she was just a sweet little kid with an easygoing temperament who’d never realized what the old man was really like.

  And why should they have believed anything else? Kyra thought with a sigh as she left the aspen grove behind and made her way toward the house. She’d found a way to make life easier for everybody and all it took was a little creative effort.

  Except she’d never intended to play the role for quite so long. Her brothers were gone and she was of age. It was time—but the first, subtle signs of Charles’s failing health had brought her plans to an abrupt halt.

  How could she have turned on him then, when he needed her? For all his terrible faults, he was her father. And if she hadn’t liked him, she had certainly loved him.

  Her boot heels clattered on the steps as she made her way to the kitchen door and pushed it open With a sigh, she crossed the room, plucked a mug from the cupboard and filled it with coffee.

  Well, there was nothing to hold her back now. Her father was gone. Grant, Cade and Zach had returned to their own lives. It was time to go about hers. But what kind of life did she want? Did she want a job? A career? A college degree?

  Kyra didn’t have a clue. She only knew she needed to d
o something. Something she chose, for herself, by herself, with no advice from anybody—not even from her brothers.

  It wasn’t that she didn’t love them. She did, with all her heart. It had been wonderful, having them home the week of the funeral, but it had only reminded her that, as far as they were concerned, she was still just a kid.

  Cade had spent every moment—very sweetly, of course—telling her what to do and how to do it. Zach had asked a hundred times if she didn’t want him to take a look at the household accounts or show her how to balance her checkbook. And Grant had done everything but pat her on the head and call her his good little girl.

  It had all come close to driving her crazy but she’d gritted her teeth and endured—until the reading of the will. In retrospect, she knew it was the will that had finally tipped her over the edge.

  Charles had left his private fortune, the mansion and all its vast acreage to Kyra; he’d left Landon Enterprises, his multimillion-dollar empire, to his sons.

  Anger had swept over her as the attorney’s voice faded to silence. Her father had done it again, she’d thought bitterly; even in death, he’d managed to keep her from the real world.

  And, as soon as the attorney was gone, her brothers did it, too, giving her benevolent smiles and saying how happy they were that the mansion would be hers.

  “We’re so happy for you, Princess,” Grant said, putting his arm around her shoulders. “We know how you love this house.”

  And before she could say hell, no, I hate it, he turned to Cade and Zach and they began discussing the quickest way to divest themselves of Landon Enterprises. They wanted no part of the Landon legacy but she—she was expected to jump for joy over her inheritance!

  The realization left her tight-lipped with fury but she said nothing. What could she say in the face of such damnable male insensitivity?

  And then, just as she was getting over her anger, Grant met with Victor Bayliss, who’d been their father’s second-in-command at Landon’s, and came back with news that put a halt to her brothers’ plans to sell the company.

  There were serious problems to deal with in Dallas, Hollywood and New York, Grant told Cade and Zach, ignoring Kyra even though she was in the room. She told herself it was understandable; thanks to Charles’s will, she didn’t have anything to do with Landon Enterprises. But the more she listened, the shorter her temper got.

  Didn’t Cade or Grant or Zach see the obvious solutions to the difficulties facing them? She certainly did, but no one was asking her for her opinion. No one ever had.

  That was when she exploded.

  “For goodness’ sake,” she snapped, “are you all stupid? The answers to your problems are right under your noses!”

  She pointed out how easily Cade could deal with the Dallas crisis, how readily Zach could handle the problem in California. There was a moment’s pointed silence and then, to her amazement, her brothers agreed

  No, Kyra thought grimly as she remembered the scene, no, they’d done more than agree. They’d acted as if the ideas were theirs, not hers. Not a one of them had thought to say, wow, Kyra, that was pretty good thinking. Thanks for your help. We really needed it!

  But how could they? The big jerks had been too busy flashing each other goofy grins and putting on that disgusting display of male bonding they’d called, since childhood, the Deadeye Defenders’ secret handshake.

  “Damn,” Kyra muttered.

  She could not, she would not, go on being treated like a child! She would not settle into the life that was expected of her, chairing dumb committees for causes she didn’t believe in, attending silly functions where she was supposed to smile prettily and pretend she was having fun…

  …and where a man like the Spaniard could say the things he’d said and then vanish into the blue.

  Her coffee mug clattered against the table top.

  The Spaniard? What on earth had made her think of him? Not that it was the first time. Like it or not, the man had been lurking inside her head for days.

  Well, it was understandable. It wasn’t easy to forget such a pretentious, self-important cretin.

  Impatiently, she rose from the chair, kicked it back into place, and dumped her mug into the sink To think she’d let him get away with such rude behavior. Why hadn’t she told him he was a jerk? In Spanish, of course, Spanish every bit as perfect as his. Her mouth twisted in a wry smile. According to her father, learning to converse in three different languages had been part of the education of a proper lady.

  So why hadn’t she hurled an insult straight back into his handsome, insolent face?

  You are a toothless dog, she could have said. You are a worm. You are an animal…

  Except he was none of those. That was the trouble. He was the best-looking hunk she’d ever set eyes on and he knew it. It was why he thought he could get away with eyeing women and then sidling up to them and insulting them…

  “Hello! Anybody home?”

  Kyra spun around, her eyes wide with surprise. “Cade?”

  “Squirt?”

  “Cade!” She gave a screech of delight, raced from the kitchen, and threw herself into her brother’s arms.

  He laughed as he twirled her around. “That’s what a man wants,” he said as he set her on her feet, “a greeting that really makes him feel welcome!”

  Kyra grinned up at him. “What a wonderful surprise! But why didn’t you phone and tell me you were coming? I’d have met you at the airport.”

  Was it her imagination, or did his smile dim before he answered?

  “Well, it was kind of a last-minute decision. Anyway, I figured I didn’t need to make a formal announcement that I was coming, now that the old ma—I mean, now that Father’s not…”

  “Of course you didn’t.” Kyra looped her arm through his. “You’ll always be welcome—wherever I live.”

  Cade smiled. “Thanks, Squirt.”

  “What are you thanking me for?” She hugged him. “I love you, you big jerk. Now, come on. Tell me all about Texas while I get you something to eat.”

  “To tell the truth, I’m not hungry.”

  “Coffee, then. I’ll put up a fresh pot while you tell me what Dallas is like.”

  There was no doubt this time; she could definitely see his smile dim.

  “There’s nothing to tell It’s just a city.”

  “Well, did you accomplish what you went there for? Was that oil company doing as badly as you’d thought?”

  “Yeah,” Cade said in a flat voice. “It was a mess, thanks to—thanks to—”

  “Thanks to ‘the old man,’ you mean.” Kyra smiled and touched his hand. “It’s all right to call Father that,” she said softly. “To tell the truth, it’s how I usually thought of him.”

  Cade’s face went cold. “What do you mean? Did he give you a hard time, once we were all gone?”

  Kyra hesitated. Now was the time to tell him, to say that there were all kinds of ways to mistreat someone, that she had been trapped in a golden cage all her life…

  But Cade looked so tired. And there was a darkness in his eyes that she’d never seen there before.

  She smiled brightly. “No, of course not. I was Father’s angel, remember?”

  Cade let out his breath. “Yeah.” He smiled, then glanced wistfully at the stairs. “Sis, would you mind if I crashed for a while? I’m really beat.”

  “Of course. You go on up and take a nap.”

  “Just give me a couple of hours and then tell Stella to pile on the bacon and eggs.”

  Kyra chuckled. “You will have to take your chances with my bacon and eggs, little brother. I gave Stella a couple of weeks off.”

  “But you can’t cook.”

  Kyra tried not to bristle. “Believe it or not,” she said lightly, “you really can teach an old dog new tricks.”

  Cade laughed. “Old?” he said, ruffling her hair. “Old, at twenty-two?” He drew back, looked her over, and frowned. “Is that why you look different? Because you’
re cooking for yourself?”

  “Hey,” she said with mock indignation, “is that an insult?”

  “I’m senous, Squirt. Are you eating enough? Maybe you need vitamins.”

  “Cade,” Kyra said gently, “do us both a favor. Don’t think for me, okay?”

  It was only a teasing throwaway line, but her brother’s face darkened with anger.

  “What is this?” he said harshly. “The new female battle cry?”

  Kyra blinked. Whatever had happened to him in Dallas, it wasn’t good.

  “You really do need some sleep,” she said gently. She stood on tiptoe and pressed a kiss to his stubbled jaw. “We can talk when you’re back among the living.”

  Cade sighed and shot her a weary smile. “Good idea,” he said, and stumbled up the stairs.

  When she heard Cade moving around, Kyra put aside the magazine she’d been reading, went into the kitchen, and laid four strips of bacon on the griddle. She hesitated, made a face, and added four more.

  She’d done a lot of thinking the past couple of hours and she’d finally decided it would be silly not to ask his advice about her future. If anyone could help her with some ideas, her brother Cade was the one.

  Just look at what he’d done with his own life, she thought as she began cracking eggs into a bowl. Cade had started out to be an engineer and ended up wildcatting for oil in all sorts of exotic places. He’d understand her need to shed her chrysalis and try her wings.

  The Spaniard, on the other hand, would not. He’d want a woman to live in an ivory tower with a stove at one end and a bed at the other. The time at the stove might be worth it, though; he’d probably know how to keep a woman very, very happy in that bed.

  One of the eggs slipped from Kyra’s hand and smashed against the tile floor. She looked down at the yolky mess, shook her head, and grabbed for a handful of paper towels.

  What was wrong with her? Why had she thought of that man again? It was crazy. She was crazy, she thought grimly as she mopped up the egg. To waste even a minute of time thinking about somebody like that…